


Positive Thinking: Supply Runs

by mysterycyclone



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Cat Puns, Fluff, Gen, How Simon gets his pet cat, also cannibals happen, the story nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 12:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterycyclone/pseuds/mysterycyclone
Summary: Abel's food stores are dangerously low. Simon and Five are sent on a run deep into town, and find more than they bargained for when a hostile group finds them.No spoilers, but it is set in S2.





	Positive Thinking: Supply Runs

“Rise and shine, Five!” Simon crows cheerfully, swinging the bunkhouse door open with enough force to make it bounce off of the wall. Dim, grey daylight streams into the dark room, lighting up the sleeping runner curled up on a cot in the corner of the room. Seeing his grand entrance didn’t get him the reaction he was looking for, Simon ups the ante by dropping Five’s backpack down on the cot beside her feet. “Duty calls!”

 

Five huffs, burrowing herself down into the thin cot and thinner blankets further, pulling the blankets up over her head. Undeterred, Simon snakes his hand beneath the top of the the blankets, tickling the back of Five’s neck with his fingers. She makes a noise that comes perilously close to a squeak, shooting up out of bed and scrunching her neck down, yanking herself away from his wiggling fingers. The glare she gives Simon could kill.

 

Simon only grins in response. “Jody’s right. You really _do_ sleep like the dead. And so late in the morning! Janine would lecture you about your poor sense of _diligence_ if she knew.”

 

It takes a few moments for Five’s brain to kick in completely, catching up with the world from a deep and surprisingly easy sleep. She’s in one of the newly built bunkhouses nestled near the comms shack and armory; they don’t have much insulation to speak of, but they’re several steps above the ragged tents most of the township lived in only two weeks before. Sara’s bunk is tucked away in the corner, blanket folded with military precision in the center of her cot; Jody’s cot on the other side of the house looks more like a magpie nest with half finished knitting projects, socks, and a sleep mask all tangled up inside her blanket. They both had an early morning run today and weren’t due back until late in the afternoon. Five had been looking forward to sleeping in for the first time since the apocalypse. That apparently won’t happen today.

 

Five sighs, letting her blanket drop to the bed while she rubs her eyes. She knows her hair is an utter mess by the way Simon's face lights up with delight when he sees it. He reaches in to gently tug at a lock of it dangling in her face until she slaps his hand away. Simon should consider himself _very_ lucky that she’s still too tired from yesterday’s run to strangle him or fling one of her shoes into his face. He grins, ducking away from her now that she’s awake.

 

“Why are you here?” She's half asleep, fumbling with her signing, and he certainly won't pick up much from her body language when she's half buried in blankets like this, but he gets the message regardless.

 

“Supply run! Janine checked the food stocks this morning and found weevils and rats had their way with our oats. That means the whole batch is gone. We need to scavenge up enough food to make up for it, since we've already cut out lunch rations until the crops come in.” Simon stretches as he talks, thinking. “So! We have a run into town, near the red zone. A quick nip into the shop, then back home. Easy work for the likes of you and me.”

 

Five sighs, throwing the blanket aside and running a hand through her hair in a rather hopeless attempt to tame it. She nods to him, then firmly points at the door, quirking a brow. Simon catches her meaning and laughs, moving for the door.

 

“I’ll meet you at the gates, Five,” Simon says, “Don’t keep me waiting!”

 

The door clicks shut behind him and Five stands up with a silent groan. If the situation is serious enough for Janine to send them out right away, then she had better hurry. Rations are thin as it is.

 

*** * ***

 

The run into town is relatively uneventful. The clouds above grow thicker, darker, and a bit ominous as they cross into downtown in the late early afternoon. Five looks up at the sky warily when she and Simon slow to a stop near a scorched military jeep blocking the center of the street. Simon had been all jokes and swagger on the road into the town, but he’s serious and sharp now, checking their surroundings warily, making sure to keep Five in his line of sight. Too many runners and survivors from other settlements have gone missing in this part of town to warrant anything but the utmost care.

 

“Right,” Simon breathes, pitching his voice low into his headset, “We’re here. I can see the shop ahead. Looks clear so far. Lots of zoms the next road over, I think, but if we’re quick...”

 

He’s right. Five can hear the low, unending groan of a large pack slowly moving away. The sound echoes up and down the abandoned city’s streets, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. If Chris were still alive, he’d likely climb one of the buildings with one of his notebooks in hand, eager to observe and report on the zombie horde’s movements through the town.

 

“Be _careful_ ,” Sam replies, fiddling with his mic. He’s nervous; the headcams can’t transmit anything this far into town. New Canton has some scheme in place to fix that, but for now, they have to rely on the standard methods Abel’s used before. “New Canton’s lost three runners to this part of the city.”

 

“Zombies?” Simon asks, carefully weaving around bodies laying in the street. Five follows him, close at his heels, axe held at the ready. All of them look too far gone to be dangerous, but there are always stories of unwary runners getting bitten by a crawler. A bite on the ankle is just as deadly as one anywhere else, and towns have the added danger of sinkholes and potholes that can easily cripple a runner. A broken ankle is almost always a death sentence for a runner.

 

“Not sure, actually,” Sam says, the shrug audible in his voice. “They go into the center of town and then they just stop answering and never come home. And with everyone stretched thin these days, no one can spare the time or effort to go find them.”

 

“Didn’t Evan and Jody have trouble with this place? I think I remember him swearing off this part of town awhile back.” Simon goes quiet after this question, tilting his head with a frown before pressing an ear against the door of the grocery.

 

Five frowns back, flashing a quick hand sign. “Danger?”

 

Simon listens for a moment more, and then slowly shakes his head, leaning back to pull open the door. Five can see inside the dingy windows. The shelves look surprisingly well stocked; a promising sign, given how dire the situation is back at Abel.

 

“Mm, yeah, but that was a long time ago. He said there was a hostile group down here, but no one’s seen them in months. Seems like they’ve pulled a disappearing act, too.” Sam’s voice turns all business, and Five can hear him tap away at his keyboard. “Okay. I have _some_ cameras working for me. There’s a lot of zombs moving around that part of town, but I don’t see any near the store yet. Get in, grab what you can, and get out.”

 

“Sounds good to me, Sammy,” Simon says as Five ducks into the store ahead of him, axe held up. Simon follows close behind, shutting the door behind them as quietly as possible.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Sam mutters in reply, going back to his cameras. “Be careful.”

 

The store is surprisingly clean by apocalypse standards. No bodies, no zombies, no blood or viscera spread across the windows. The shelves are dusty, but full; cans of soup, stock, and vegetables line the shelves closest to the window. Bottles of seasonings line another, and dry oats wrapped tightly in plastic lay haphazardly on another. Five hasn’t seen this much food in one place since her last mind numbingly boring shift at Fort Mullins’ kitchens preparing a meal for her superior officer.

 

A few of the interior lights are on, though the light they give off is dusty and dim. There’s no smell of rot or death, no hint of pests or mice. The air is stuffy, but relatively pleasant compared to outside. Five frowns up at the lights. Something about this is very wrong.

 

“Jackpot. This’ll keep us going for at least a week or two.” Simon starts shoving cans into his pack, moving quickly and efficiently. He clears one shelf and moves to the next, grabbing the seasoning and oats while Five watches his back. Standard runner procedure has one guard and one gatherer, switching off when one backpack is full. Five paces up and down the aisles, twirling her axe in her hands, trying to pinpoint what’s setting off her nerves. She feels like she’s being watched, but there are no cameras inside the store that she can see.

 

“Right, your turn, Five. I’m full up.” Simon stands up, stretching, and then carefully slings his backpack on over his shoulders. He tests the weight and _tsks_. “We’ll have to move a little slower than usual. How’s it look out there, Sam?”

 

“You’re still clear for now, but there’s a pack of twenty coming in from the east,” Sam says, static briefly overtaking his voice. “And I think the rain’s about to start.”

 

“Well, that’ll make for a nice refreshing run,” Simon says dryly, pulling out his machete. The blade is dark, one of Janine’s personal weapons. He’s been taking it out into the field with him more often lately. “With the freezing cold autumn rain and all.”

 

“You could use a bit of a cold shower, Simon,” Sam quips, then adds as afterthought, “No offense.”

 

“You wound me,” Simon drawls, peering through the aisles. He moves towards the back of the store, where a small bakery counter is set up. It’s dark beyond the counter, but that doesn’t keep Simon from pulling out his torch and searching the corners with the light.

 

Five keeps an eye on him as she starts to stack cans into her backpack. There are dozens here, more than she and Simon can carry back in one trip. Another thing that’s out of place; the apocalypse is in full swing by now, and even the worst and most dangerous areas have been looted to some degree. This store looks untouched. It’s too close to Abel and New Canton to warrant that.

 

Simon suddenly yelps, flailing back from the counter with all the grace of a drunken gazelle, bringing up his machete. “Jesus!”

 

Five drops her backpack, snatching up her axe. She’s at Simon’s side in a heartbeat, shielding him, ready to throw down with whatever comes out of the darkness.

 

“What’s wrong? Simon? Five? Guys?” Sam asks. Thunder echoes in the distance, low and threatening, and the sound of steady rain hitting the windows follows. Five can hear something scratching at the counter desperately.

 

Simon looks embarrassed, trying to catch his breath. “It’s fine! It’s fine. Nothing dangerous, I don’t think.”

 

“What is it?” Sam asks again.

  
“A kitten. Or a bloody huge rat,” Simon sighs, running his hand through his hair before bending down to pick up his light. “Just a big furball staring out at me in the dark. I saw his eyes and got a fright, that’s all.”

 

Sam snickers. “You got scared by a kitten, mate?”

 

Simon huffs and doesn’t answer, focusing on brushing the dust off of his trousers instead. Sam snickers some more, but drops the subject.

 

Five tilts her head at Simon, then cautiously peers over the counter. It is a kitten, not a rat; maybe a year old, likely younger. It’s small, too skinny, and mews pathetically up at them both, trying to scramble up the smooth wood of the counter to reach them. His fur is a dark grey, with patches of white on his chest, back, and on the front of his paws. Simon reaches down and picks him up, handling him gently. This prompts another round of whiny, insistent mews until Simon cradles the kitten against his chest.

 

“Noisy little beast, isn’t he?” Simon says, shooting her a teasing grin. Five rolls her eyes, tentatively reaching out for the kitten to sniff her fingers. The kitten paws at her fingers and then stretches out to nuzzle her hand, purring loudly. Simon scoffs. “Oh, I see how it is. Yell and whine at me after giving me a heart attack and then snuggle up to her. Guess I’m not to your taste, then.”

 

The kitten ignores him, instead leaning into Five’s gentle scritch beneath his chin. Deep, happy purrs and quiet, curious mews come from the kitten, who keeps a curious paw pressed against the back of Five’s hand.

 

“Guys,” Sam’s voice cuts in, tense and alarmed, “There’s five people coming towards the store. They’ve got nets and heavy clubs, and they’ve cut off the road you used to get into town. You need to get out of there now.”

 

“Nets? Why would they have _nets?_ ” Simon mutters, cradling the kitten close to his chest while he grabs adjusts his backpack. The kittens mews again, and he shushes it. “Right, I can see the door leading to the alley behind the shop, Five. We can make our escape there.”

 

Five nods, running back to the front to sweep a few last cans into her backpack before zipping it closed and shrugging it on. It’s _heavy_ , and she nearly loses her balance as she jogs back to Simon and their new furry companion.

 

“I’d rather not find out, personally,” Sam says, “Out of the shop, then take a right. You’ll need to move fast to avoid that pack of zombs I mentioned earlier.”

 

Five taps against the mic of her headset, sending an acknowledgement. Simon vaults over the bakery counter at a jog, sailing over it and landing smoothly on the other side. Five is right behind him, ducking into the dark interior of the bakery just as the front door of the shop is kicked open. A heavily muscled man steps into the shop, a weighted fishing net in one hand and a kukri in the other. He’s huge; at least as tall as Evan, and just as muscular. There’s a necklace made of teeth around his neck.

 

“All right!” The man’s voice is deep, threatening, and decidedly posh. Two of his friends stalk in behind him, armed with clubs and ropes. “I know you’re in here! Come out quietly and we’ll make it quick for you! The gents and I are about to run out of meat!”

 

“Eugh, looks like we’ve found Seven’s friends,” Simon mutters quietly, ducking down and heading for the door. He opens it slowly, silently and waves Five ahead. She nods, ducking ahead of him, keeping her axe up. There are bodies here, long since rotted away. The rain is falling steadily, but she can hear the distant groaning cries of a nearby pack of zombies. Distant thunder drowns out their moans.

 

“And what happened to New Canton’s runners,” Sam says. “I don’t think they’ve seen you--”

 

One of the big man’s friends suddenly calls out from inside the shop, loud enough to be heard over the rain and zombies. “Burke! Over there, in the back! They’re going through the alley!”

 

“You just had to say it, didn’t you,” Simon growls, “C’mon, Five!”

 

They make a break for the end of the alley, Five following hot on Simon's heels. Puddles of mud, trash, and other less savory things litter the cracked concrete of alley. Shouts and taunts echo down towards them from behind; Burke and his men are giving chase.

 

A pack of zombies ambles across their exit into the street street ahead of them, cutting off their escape. A few start the slow, laborious process of turning to face them, drawn in by the sound of the shouts and threats of their pursuers. Simon skids to a stop, nearly toppling over and dropping the kitten, growling in frustration. Five barely keeps from slamming face first into his back, digging in her heels and slowing herself down enough to lightly bump into him, bracing her hand on his shoulder. She immediately whirls around to face Burke and his men, holding her axe up. They’re still some distance away, but they’re gaining speed.

 

“Sam?” Simon snaps, “Any bright ideas?”

 

Sam stutters for a moment, and they can hear him push aside a few papers on his desk and the rustling a few more, obviously consulting a map. “Okay, this is some of Runner Eight’s home turf! Kind of, not really.”

 

“Sam--” Simon says, voice tense.

 

“There’s a door to your right, go inside. It should be unlocked,” Sam replies, “Lock it behind you, block it if you can.”

 

Five reaches the door before Simon, shouldering the door open hard enough to slam it back on his hinges. It’s pitch dark inside, and she fumbles for the small emergency light clipped to the strap of her backpack. She clicks it on as Simon slams the door shut behind them, dropping a bar across it before shoving shelves and boxes in front of it. Five looks for any obvious threats while he works. The cat makes quiet, frightened mews, barely audible over the sound of the rain and zombies outside.

 

They’re in a storeroom; shelves line the walls and floor, covered in boxes. Five curiously opens one box. It’s full of manila folders stuffed to the brim with paper detailing accounts and stock prices, nothing useful. No bodies or zombies, either. Five keeps her axe up, wary of any blind corners, leading Simon deeper into the building. More shelves and little else, with the front entrance so thoroughly blocked that it would take Simon and Five hours to tear down the barricade. Something hits the alley door hard enough to shake its frame; very human shouts follow each furious blow against the door. Burke and his men have caught up, and they’re making enough noise to draw in the horde. Worse, whatever barricade Simon put up is starting to crack apart at the seams. It won't keep the gang at bay for much longer.

 

Simon pitches his voice low, soft and quiet. His words are punctuated by the deep, engine-like purr of the kitten tucked against him. “We’re inside. Looks abandoned. The front door’s blocked and the windows are too small for us to break and crawl out of. Our _friends_ are making a mess of the door behind us.”

 

“Go up the stairs, to the top level,” Sam says, “Take a left at the end of the hall, then move the bookshelf and go through the door behind it.”

 

Five pauses just long enough to give Simon a confused look before moving for the stairs. Running up the stairs proves to be slightly difficult with their rain slick shoes and the weight of their backpacks, and Five is panting heavily by the time they finish climbing four levels up to the top floor, her legs burning from the effort. Simon doesn’t seem to be in much better shape; she can hear him pant and mutter curses, adjusting his backpack as he follows her down the hall and inside the door Sam mentioned. Five makes a note to give him shit for it later when they get somewhere safe. In the spirit of friendship, of course.

 

The room is an office, sparsely decorated with a heavy wooden bookshelf against the north wall. Thick, hard backed books line the shelf, weighing it down further. Simon and Five strain to pull it away from the wall, revealing a red steel door set deep into the plaster wall. Five pushes it open and holds the door for Simon as he pulls the bookshelf back into place. He closes it, and then staggers into the small room, looking it over as Five searches around it with her flash light.

 

It’s tiny, packed with ammo crates, a camp bed in the corner, and a toilet and sink in the corner. Unlit LED lanterns rest on top of a pile of ammo crates. The air smells like gunpowder and dust.

 

“What the hell is this place?” Simon asks, carefully poking around the small bedroom. The kitten keeps trying to crawl up onto his shoulders, and Simon has to gently nudge him back into the crook of his arm.

 

“One of the safe houses Runner Eight scouted out a long time ago. Janine had this whole idea of creating outposts in town, but we started losing runners and lost the manpower for it.” Sam says, then continues, “Look for ropes. You’ll probably have to climb down from here once your friends give up.”

 

“ _If_ they give up,” Five signs to Simon, holding her light to her hands so he can see it. Simon sighs.

 

“Yeah. If they give up.” He sits down hard on the bed and Five sits beside him, leaning against him while she catches her breath.

 

“I just wish I knew where they came from. They weren’t on my cams until they were almost on top of you,” Sam mutters, “And then it was almost too late. Why didn’t they grab any of the food at the store? Are they bandits?”

 

Simon blinks, then barks a short, bitter laugh. “It’s bait! The whole bloody store is bait for them. That’s why the lights were on. They lure out people desperate for food, knock them over the head and drag them off to god knows where.”

  
“Their leader has a necklace made of human teeth,” Five signs.

 

“Right, so probably they’re cannibals on top of it.” Simon shakes his head and sighs. The kitten stretches a paw out to bat at a strap dangling from his backpack. He stretches too far and starts to tumble out of Simon’s arm. Simon catches him, tucking him back into place without a second look, taking a moment to scratch under his chin. The kitten purrs, leaning hard into his hand, closing his little eyes in bliss. “No wonder people have been going missing in this part of town.”

 

“I’ll have to let Janine know about this later,” Sam mutters, “I know we’re desperate for food, but...”

 

Five taps against her microphone. “We’re four floors up from the ground. How are we going to climb down?”

 

“Oh! Right, that.” Sam pulls away from his mic for a moment, then comes back, followed by the sound of rustling papers. “Runner Eight’s report says there should be grappling hooks and ropes in the box closest to the ammo boxes. You can climb out of the window and make a break for it once the coast is clear. For now, get some rest. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to run.”

 

Sam clicks off of the radio, and Simon nudges Five, yawning. “Think you can keep your hands to yourself long enough for us to get some rest up here?”

 

His voice is teasing, thick with smug innuendo. Five rolls her eyes and gently elbows him. “You first. And be careful with the kitten.”

 

“I suppose we should give him a name,” Simon muses, leaning back against the wall and watching the kitten crawl over his chest and arms. The kitten sniffs at his his shirt, pausing to rub his head against Simon’s hands or shirt, whichever is closer.

 

Five leans back beside him, kicking her legs a bit. “Any ideas?”

 

Simon gently runs his hand down the cat’s back, pausing to scratch the base of his tail. The cat arches up against his palm with a quiet, pleased purr. “Furball.”

 

Five rolls her eyes. “That’s a rude name.”

 

“Fitting, though,” Simon grins, “And he’s a cat besides. It’s not like he’ll listen to me anyway. Right, Furball?”

 

The kitten, Furball, is busy pouncing at Simon’s fingers. He ignores both his name and Simon entirely, completely engrossed with his little game. Simon reaches around behind the cat to gently grab at his tail. The look Furball gives him is one of pure shock and offense. Simon snickers.

 

Five watches them for a few moments, slowly relaxing. She drifts off into a light doze, propped up by her backpack, leaning against Simon’s arm.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s voice cuts through her doze, and she sits up, stirring awake and stretching carefully. “Okay, guys. Those people finally left the warehouse. You’ve got a few hours before dark. If you’re going to make it home tonight, you’ll need to leave now.”

 

Simon drops a rope and grappling hook in Five’s lap, moving for the door. “About time. C’mon, Five. Let’s get going.”

 

Simon pushes the bookshelf out, stopping to listen to make sure the coast is clear. Hearing nothing, he pushes it out further with his shoulder, cradling Furball against his chest. The cat watches him curiously, tail flicking back and forth under his arm. Five follows him, pushing the bookcase back into place behind them. This place could come in handy sometime (once the cannibals go away), and Sara will want it left as they found it, if at all possible.

 

“Okay, guys, the cams are clear. Lots of zombies moving around because of the rain and thunder, but none are near you yet. Be safe,” Sam says.

 

Simon ties the end of his rope around one legs of the massive desk, testing the knot with several sharp pulls before opening a window and flinging the rope through it. The rain is steady and constant. It’s going to be a miserable run back to Abel at this rate.

  
“You first, Five,” Simon says, adjusting his backpack. “I’ve got one arm occupied, after all.”

 

Five nods, testing the rope herself before grabbing it and rappelling down the brick face of the building. Her hands sting with the effort, her palms rubbing themselves raw against the rope. Simon carefully starts the climb down above her, moving much more slowly and carefully; he’s essentially climbing down with one arm, as the other is holding the cat against his chest.

 

The kitten’s mews grow insistent, frightened. Simon tucks him into the crook of his arm with a quiet reassuring murmur, shielding him from the worst of the weather as he climbs down. The wind has picked up again, whipping the rain around them in harsh bursts. The three of them are soaked through by the time they make safely to the ground, and the sharp wind coming from the north isn't helping matters.

 

Simon finally drops down beside Five. A thoroughly soaked and frankly ridiculous looking Furball is pressed up tight against Simon, mewing pathetically and grumpily. Five shakes out her hands and then grabs her axe, getting ready for a run. Sam snickers.

 

“Sounds like your new friend isn’t fond of the rain,” Sam says. “Can’t say you look much better, Three.”

 

Simon looks just as done in; his hair is plastered to his skin, clinging to his forehead and temples until he pushes it back out of his eyes. He gives the nearest camera an unfriendly gesture.

  
Five taps her mic, leading the way through the abandoned city’s streets. “On our way back home, Abel. ETA two hours, give or take.”

 

“I read you, Five,” Sam replies, “We’ll have warm blankets and towels waiting.”

 

* * *

 

The run back takes slightly longer than initially thought, but Simon and Five are greeted as heroes. Their run shores up the food stocks enough to keep Janine from forcing strict rations on the still recovering township. Even Furball gets a bit of praise; a mouse catcher will help prevent future issues. To a certain degree, anyway. The Major and Janine agree to give Simon and Five extra down time, sparing a bit of power for the rec room as a reward for their dangerous run.

 

The only problem is that Five’s too tired and sore to enjoy it. She’s tucked away in the corner of the rec room, trying to play through a few levels of Portal before the power runs down. It’s warm and cozy inside, and she shakes her head to keep awake before giving up and shutting off the console completely. She looks behind her to see how Simon’s faring.

 

Simon’s sprawled out across one of the bean bag chairs in far corner, eyes closed, legs propped up on a nearby chair. Judging by his expression, he’s found the most comfortable spot in the room. Furball seems to come to the same conclusion and worms his way up under Simon’s neck, curling up into a ball in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He lets out one whining mew after another against Simon’s ear until Simon _sighs_ and reaches up to pet him. Satisfied, the kitten snuggles down with a smug purr, falling asleep.

 

Five snickers, closing the door behind herself as she leaves.


End file.
